Consciously Uncoupling from Jane
She rescued me and I rescued her right back. But then things got old.
There’s an old joke: two elderley women are at a Catskill Mountain resort and one of them says, “Boy the food at this place is really lousy.” And the other woman says, I know, and such small portions.” That’s the key joke of my seven-year relationship with Jane.
You know, in the olden days, dogs lived to be five, maybe six years old. So the whole idea of growing old with your human made perfect sense.
But nowadays, with the advent of modern veterinary procedures that usually involve either having some guy shove his gloved hand up our glans or wearing degrading lampshades on our heads — or both — dogs are living to be 15, 16, 18 years old. I know a chihuahua mix that’s so old he shits in his own food bowl and eats it, and I mean, what kind of life is that?
The point is, 15 years is an insanely long time to spend living under one roof with a human. People and dogs change and they grow. If you can change and grow together, great, but realistically, how long am I going to put up with that godawful sound she makes when she’s sleeping? Only I can hear it, but still.
And how long can I stand to see her chasing after guys who are out of her league? OYL, girlfriend. I peed the…
